


Kintsugi

by babynaomi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29558481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babynaomi/pseuds/babynaomi
Summary: {Filthy OC AU}Lorenzo Berkshire; deformed by a now cruel and sanguinary world.Voldemort won the battle of Hogwarts.Lorenzo, Onyx, Blaise, and Lucille hide in the shadows.Their skies became decorated with the Dark Mark, but through the emerald glow, beauty dawned.The sun roused the atmosphere with an Aurora.And she gleamed awakening Lorenzo's dormant heart.+Contains dark themes & sexual content. Not intended for young audiences. Slow burn. (16+)description written by @batshitasian
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To UNDERSTAND this book, you MUST READ FILTHY, or at least have a SLIGHT UNDERSTANDING about the book Filthy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To UNDERSTAND Kintsugi, you MUST read FILTHY, or at least have a slight UNDERSTANDING of Filthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This book is an alternate universe of the book Filthy. All characters from Filthy will be applied in this book. 
> 
> Warning: Mature themes. It's pretty dark. I don't exactly know where this book is headed, but I have to write it unless I'll forget all about it. This writing will be covering highly sensitive topics. I usually put trigger warnings in all the chapters that may include sensitive material, but take this introduction as a trigger warning altogether. Before we continue, I will be covering a few things.
> 
> Yes, Harry Potter is dead. Voldemort won. Draco Malfoy, Lucille Granger, Onyx De Loughrey, and Lorenzo Berkshire are in the book. Lorenzo is still the son of Bellatrix Lestrange and Charles Berkshire, another one of my OCs. 
> 
> The story takes place Post-War Battle of Hogwarts.
> 
> It's Lorenzo Berkshire x OC, who will be introduced soon.
> 
> Again, this is an Alternate Universe, meaning the book somewhat aligns with Filthy, but not entirely.
> 
> You are Aurora Silvermist (Hotaru Kimura)
> 
> No face claims, but I personally envision Suzu Hirose as Aurora/Hotaru:
> 
> +
> 
> Without further adieu, I present to you...
> 
> K I N T S U G I 
> 
> Poetically translated to "golden joinery," Kintsugi, or Kintsukuroi, is the centuries-old Japanese art of fixing broken pottery. The Kintsugi technique employs a special tree sap lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. Once completed, beautiful seams of gold glint in the conspicuous cracks of ceramic wares, giving a one-of-a-kind appearance to each "repaired" piece.
> 
> +
> 
> "It's like Kintsugi," Aurora pattered. She ran her cold, porcelain fingers against the intricate scars that rested upon his upper back, nearing his right shoulder blade.
> 
> "Like what?" Lorenzo queried as he laid flat on his stomach.
> 
> "Kintsugi," she responded, "You're a ceramic vase. And these healed scars? They're like beautiful golden seams. Not that I'm glorifying your tragedy, but I'm bringing it to light. Like, think of the whole situation from a different perspective."
> 
> Lorenzo scoffed. He toyed with the loose thread of his shirt that he was ordered to remove—courtesy of Aurora Silvermist. "Yeah, right. But I'm still a damaged little wolf-boy even with golden seams."
> 
> "With beautiful golden seams," Aurora corrected, as she emphasized the word 'beautiful'. 
> 
> To her, Lorenzo wasn't a damaged little wolf-boy. He was a damned piece of pottery that was once shattered into a million pieces. 
> 
> But with the golden seams for repair, he was beautiful. 
> 
> One of the most beautiful pieces of art she'd ever seen.

  
**+**

**THE HOSPITAL WARD** at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was packed. It was expected given the circumstances. A lot of lives were lost. A lot of people were injured. Floors upon floors were full of minor to severely injured wizards and witches.

Temporarily, the assigned floors didn't apply—they packed whoever they could in each ward. Healers mixed minor injured patients with major injured ones.

While a brunette-headed witch had a minor gash on her thigh, a silver-haired wizard screamed every 7 minutes at the top of their lungs because the Cruciatus curse formed muscle memory in his flesh.

And their beds were next to each other.

It didn't matter who had it the worst. They were on the same floor. Healers didn't have time to sort outpatients who came in at a consistent speed. Their main job was to _heal_.

Lorenzo Berkshire laid on his hospital bed as things around him grew hectic. Healers paced back and forth in an attempt to accompany all the patients that kept piling in. A majority of the people around him all had curses running through their veins. Death Eaters out on the battlefield were ruthless. Hexes and curses all around, flashing like lightning. Spontaneous fire combustion occurred out on the field multiple times. The result? Burning flesh of witches and wizards. Lorenzo could remember the smell. It lingered at the back of his throat like peppermint candy.

 _Peppermint candy,_ he thought, _sounds really fucking good right now_.

"I—agree," a man spoke to him, which completely caught Lorenzo Berkshire off-guard. Lorenzo turned his head to the right to see a man whose body kept convulsing. But his expression was, oddly enough, unbothered. "Peppermint—candy sounds good—right now."

Invasive actions were unsettling to Lorenzo. "Were you reading my mind?" he asked flatly.

The convulsing man nodded. "I apologize. I couldn't help it. It's the only thing—keeping me—sane right—now." He cracked a subtle smile before breaking eye contact. Though the convulsing, intrusive, odd man looked away, Lorenzo's stare lingered for a while.

Lorenzo watched him spasm—his hands, chest, feet, legs, and even his eyelids. Lorenzo knew it was rude to stare, but it was also rude to intrude on one's thoughts. Enzo's actions compensated. They were even.

Soon enough, he looked away. He stared up at the ceiling as the commotion around him grew louder. More chaotic. More overwhelming. Lorenzo refused to make any sudden movement because it would irritate his large wound located on his back. He had deep and large scratches that started at the medial of his back to the halting of his right shoulder blade; upper area. The wound was _very_ fresh. Lorenzo knew that his blood was seeping through the very sheets he laid on. But it's a hospital. It's fine.

 _Where are my bloody friends?_ Lorenzo thought to himself. _Do they even care about the fucking condition I'm in? Do they know where I am? Fucking gits are probably dead. Couldn't even say good-bye to me before they died._

His memory before ending up at St. Mungo's was a blotch. Lorenzo couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he was trying his very best to map it out. It wasn't that long ago, so he knew he had to dig deeper into his mind.

_Think, Lorenzo. Think._

Death Eaters everywhere flooded the hallways of Hogwarts. Storming and intruding. He believed it was impossible to make the castle shake. But the war proved him wrong. The fire in the sconces that hung on walls danced ferociously. The stones crumbled at his feet. Boys and girls screamed. It was annoying. _Just keep running, you idiots. Run for your fucking life. Stop screaming. Just run. That's it._

But it wasn't that simple.

Lorenzo always had his wand in hand and Lucille's hand in the other. His main goal was to keep her safe; to keep the both of them safe. Onyx and Blaise followed, but for once in his goody-two shoed life, he was eager to survive instead. Lorenzo didn't fear leaving them if it meant saving himself and Lucille.

And as for Draco? Fuck him. Lorenzo was angry at him for not warning him about the moments that soon led up to the war. Given that they were cousins, the least Draco could've done was warn him. Or warn Lucille, at least. Didn't Draco care? If not for Lorenzo, then for Lucille? Fuck's sake, he stole the bloody muggle-born from Lorenzo anyway! And Draco Lucius Malfoy couldn't provide the bare minimum of a simple warning?

 _Stop it,_ Lorenzo told himself. _Maybe everything was happening too fast. Maybe Draco Malfoy didn't have time to warn his friends. I mean, after all, he is the boy who had no choice._

Oh, God how he _hoped_ that his friends were alive. Hated to admit it, but he hoped that Draco Malfoy is alive, too. Even if Lorenzo knew that the blonde git had no choice, he was mad at him for everything that happened. Fucking hell, Draco isn't Voldemort. But why was Lorenzo so mad?

Maybe because he's mad about something else? Who knows?

Lorenzo definitely remembers that he crucio'd a Death Eater. It felt sickening to use dark magic. Twisted, even. But it was for his own safety. Everything he did was for his own safety.

Oh, right. Lorenzo was mad that Draco impregnated the love of his life. He wondered why he had to protect Lucille. Turns out it's because she was carrying a Death Eater's child. But given the circumstances, Lorenzo doubted that it survived. He also doubted that Lucille even survived, because he has no clue where she was or where she went. Hell, he has no clue where all his friends are.

But he does remember the smell of burning bodies, the screaming from people all around, and the hexes he'd cast. But that's about it.

And now he's here. St. Mungo's Hospital with a large gash on his back caused by a bloody werewolf. Fenrir-fucking-Greyback. Greyback was ordered by Bellatrix Lestrange to go and find Lorenzo Berkshire. Odd enough, she wanted him alive. She also wanted him to become a Death Eater like her. Unfortunately, things turned south. Lorenzo was against being touched by Fenrir Greyback, as well as against being around his careless mother. Bellatrix had the maternal instincts of an arachnid.

Sure, Fenrir Greyback scratched Lorenzo Berkshire, which officially altered his whole entire life, but on the upside, he didn't have to face his mother. Unless he _did_ face his mother.

Oh, he remembers. He did see his mother. He killed his mother. Lorenzo couldn't hex her in time, but she got close and his first instinct was to puncture her in the chest with his 11 2/3 inched Hazelwood wand. Right over her heart. Went right through her breastbone. Fucking hell, the _crunch_ of her membrane when he stabbed her rung in his ears on repeat.

See, now his chest is tightening at the remembrance of it. He killed his own mother. Lorenzo remembered the gasp she made, and how her eyes distilled with fear. Bellatrix Lestrange's complexion turned pale. On top of that, a tear rolled down her porcelain skin. But Lorenzo Berkshire couldn't care less. She was dead and he was free.

Lorenzo left the wand in her heart as he ran for his life. He couldn't quite recall if he was with Lucille or not. Ah, he couldn't care less about that either. Lorenzo is tired of putting everyone before him. He's at a point where life is all about surviving. Whoever died, died. Whoever lived, lived.

And he lived.

Harry Potter didn't. Fred Weasley didn't. A lot of others, too.

But Lorenzo Berkshire lived. To him, that's all that fucking mattered. He's alive.

This mindset wouldn't last. Lorenzo loves his friends. Lorenzo loves Draco. He loves Lucille. Hell, he even loves Blaise and Onyx. Absently, a tear departed from his duct as it glided down his cheek. The cool air brushed against his face, leaving the wet trail to soon dry up. There were no more tears. But he sure does miss his friends.

Lorenzo found himself creating scenarios in his head. Blaise and Onyx could be dead. Lucille could be dead. Draco could be dead. Lucille could possibly be in pieces; scattered. Onyx could be hanging on a rope in the forest. Death Eaters are probably poking at her dead corpse. Blaise is probably being tortured. Draco is probably doing the torturing—against his will.

Everything is against his own will, right? That's how it is? That's how they tell it, don't they? That Draco Malfoy is a boy who had no choice? See, that angered Lorenzo. Narcissa would spew those silk-ridden words right out her mouth in an attempt to justify anything and everything her son did. Any _bad_ thing, at least. When he nearly killed Katie Bell? _He had no choice_. When he was tasked to kill Dumbledore? _He had no choice_. It's all bullshit to Lorenzo. Lorenzo Berkshire grew tired of all the excuses. _Just admit it, Narcissa,_ Lorenzo thought to himself, _your son is a fuck-up. Your whole family is fucked up. Hell, maybe it's written in the stars._

Was it the dark magic he cast that made Lorenzo feel so angry? So pestered? Riled up? He's lying on a hospital bed with an inability to move around; of course, he's angry! Git's bleeding from his back and there's no healer to heal him, but Lorenzo had patience. In fact, Lorenzo had a handful of nice traits, with patience and hospitality being one of them.

But after the war, he felt it withering. Who needs nurture anyways? No one was nurturing towards him growing up—well, excluding Narcissa—so why would he need to nurture anyone else? It's about time Lorenzo Berkshire started reciprocating the same energy given to him.

Maybe if Lorenzo became a _complete dick_ , life would be easier. He'd get a pass like Draco Malfoy. Right? Lorenzo's been through hell and back on multiple occasions with his cousin. Matter of fact, they grew up with each other. Under the same roof and all. Shared the same pajamas. Even trousers. It never made sense to him as to why Draco Malfoy turned out to be like... _that._ It's got to be the Berkshire blood in Lorenzo. Aside from his father being a complete dead-beat, he knew how to respect and cherish.

So, Lorenzo turned off his good-natured will. From this point on, his body was on autopilot. Whatever came at him, he'd take it. It didn't matter to him if it was complete bullshit, or completely heartwarming. He couldn't care less. Lorenzo was tired. He grew so cold to the point where anything couldn't hurt him if it tried.

His aura matched the pupils in his eyes. Lorenzo's heart was cold. Fingertips, too. But it was quickly resolved when he pulled the thin blanket over his body. It wasn't enough to warm everything else, which was completely fine with him. He was okay with going cold. Hell, he was okay with going heartless.

Before turning cold, he reminisced. All the gentle kisses he'd given his beautiful friends. The laughter he shared with his friends. The warm hugs. The warm bed he would share with Lucille when times got rough. Oh, the _love-making_ he had with Luna Lovegood, Cho Chang, Lucille Granger, _Hermione_ Granger, and Ginevra Weasley. The shoulder that everyone would cry on. Lorenzo was compassionate. He loved. He loved hard. He cared hard. Lorenzo Charles Berkshire's stars were written for him—he is initially a sweetheart that everyone loves. What's not to like about Lorenzo Berkshire? For fuck's sake, it was difficult to find a bad apple in Lorenzo Berkshire.

Well, Lorenzo Berkshire rewrote his stars. To him, everything now is cold. Everything now is dark. He enclosed all his warm and fuzzy memories, all his warm and fuzzy feelings and shoved them into the depths of his brain in hopes that he never opens them again.

The world has failed him despite his attempt to make it succeed. He was the good in all the bad. He enjoyed being the bright light.

Now, he hates anything that shines. All thanks to the world that failed him, among failing everyone else around him-.

"Sorry for taking so long. Has anyone assisted you yet?" a soft voice protruded, "Tell me, are you hurt anywhere?"

Lorenzo slowly turned his head to the side where his eyes locked with a pair of small ones. Almond-shaped, light brown eyes. She definitely wasn't from here; from Scotland. Worrisome was plastered onto her face as she anticipated the injured boy's response.

"I should be dead by now," Lorenzo mumbled with a monotoned voice, "Might as well kill me. Flip me over and you'll see all the blood I lost for the duration of time that no one _fucking_ assisted me-."

"I'm sorry," the girl frantically spoke, "But I'm here now, a-and I'm here to help you with whatever it is. Can you show me where you're hurt?"

 _Christ,_ he thought to himself. _I'm hurt all around. You most certainly can't help with that._  
  
  
  


_+_


	2. Chapter 2

**"COULD YOU FUCKING** be careful?" Lorenzo snapped as the witch flipped him over with sheer aggression. The air blew against his wound in which resulted in a wince coming from him. "Fuck—just get this shit over with—."

"I know it hurts. I know," the witch stammered, "I just—I've never worked with wounds _this_ large before. Could you tell me how this happened?" The witch lightly pressured her fingers around the gash. Blood oozed at such light pressure. From the looks of it, the edges around the break of skin are rolled; nearly curling up. "You have edema occurring around the wound. It may mean that your gash is nearing infection."

Lorenzo couldn't really care less. He just wanted this wound healed—and he wanted it healed _now._ "It's a scratch from a werewolf."

The doe-eyed witch examined his wound a bit more up close. There was just so much _blood_. New blood, dried up blood, and even some sort of other fluid that she couldn't put her finger on. "I need to clean your wound before I can assess the right thing to do."

"Yeah. You do that," Lorenzo uttered. The witch gently placed him back onto his back as he seethed the pain through his teeth. "Make it quick."

"Yes, of course," she stammered, "I'll be back. Stay put, alright?"

Lorenzo looked at her with stupidity. He's immobilized. Where could he possibly go? "Sure thing," he remarked sarcastically. _If this is the bird brain who's healing me, find me another._

As the witch turned around, she immediately felt like crying. The timid witch was unaware of the type of people she'd be healing. She hasn't been at St. Mungo's for an hour and she's already got a _snobby_ patient. This Healer wasn't from Scotland. In fact, she was sent out hurriedly from a different location around the world.

People from her land knew about the war and the reign of Voldemort. Back where she was, it didn't seem to affect the people around her. This witch is a small-town Healer, but an _amazing_ one. When she was handpicked from the basket of Healers by another Healer back at St. Mungo's, she was rather _enthralled_.

But soon realizing _why_ bodies kept piling in, her heart nearly dropped to the pit of her stomach. She felt warm all around as she walked alongside all the exhausted Healers. The witch felt guilty because the war didn't affect her and her people back home. Still, she had a task to finish. She had to heal. In the process, this witch tried to look at things from a scarred person's perspective. In the end, she couldn't, because none of this applied to her.

The witch gathered all the presumed supplies needed for Lorenzo's large wound. Back at the Healer station, she grabbed a handful of vials filled with concoctions labeled _'Blood clotting'_ and _'Infection Protection',_ along with gauze dressing and wraps. She shoved the supplies in her small cross-body pouch and immediately sprinted back. She passed other wounded survivors and overwhelmed Healers on the way. The hospital was gloomy all around. It'd be a shame if she found herself absorbing all the badness in those walls.

Soon enough, she arrived back at Lorenzo's bedside. As she crept up on him, Lorenzo's eyes didn't move. He looked straight up at the ceiling, almost as if he was anticipating something. His hands are intertwined over his chest, and his lips are pursed.

When he realizes that she's back, he slowly turns his head as their eyes lock again. He gazes at her overwhelmed expression and her semi-labored breathing. And so they looked at each other for a while. He wanted to see if he could feel something.

He can't.

"I'm going to turn you over, alright?" The Healer said as she stepped closer, "Tell me if you are in pain and want me to stop."

Her arms reached for his shoulder and the side of his body, but before she could even lay a finger on the injured boy, he grabbed her wrist weakly. She sucked in her breath in reaction to the cold hand grabbing ahold of her dainty wrist. His rigid ring felt as if it were piercing through her tender skin.

"I'm Lorenzo," he sternly stated, "And you are?"

The Healer gulped. No one asked for her name upon arriving at St. Mungos. "Aurora," she responded, "Aurora Silvermist."

Lorenzo let her go. "You're not from here."

She nodded. "I know."

"You know what gave it away?" he queried.

Aurora gently nibbled at the bottom of her lip. _Why was he asking her so many questions?_ She thought maybe it was a coping mechanism in attempt to distract himself from reality; to distract himself from the current events. So, she let it all slide. Any questions he had from this point on, she'd answer. If it was all a part of the healing process, she'd do it. She was born to heal. And maybe Lorenzo was born to _be_ healed.

"I reckon it's my Asian features?" Aurora softly chuckled. He didn't seem to find that amusing or anywhere near laughable. Awkwardness lingered in her throat as she looked down. Her smile withered as she nibbled the bottom of her lip _again._

"No," he said, "You approached me with lit eyes. I'm going to assume that none of this matters to you. All but healing, right?". Lorenzo sensed that she was filled with pip. It's almost as if she seemed unbothered—unfazed, even. The truth is, maybe he's right about her. She's only here to heal. Once she's done, she'll go back to wherever she came from.

"I was sent here to heal," she responded, "But if none of this mattered to me, I wouldn't have taken the offer to apparate here. So, allow me to turn you over?"

Lorenzo huffed. He raised his hands slightly from his chest in 'surrender' to signal that he's _now_ allowing her to touch him. She picked up the notion and placed her small hand on his shoulder and the other hand at the side of his body. Aurora lightly pushed him to turn him on his side as he winced. She cringed at the sound of his pain. She wasn't supposed to feel entirely bad for him because it was her job to help. Aurora knew what she signed up for when she reigned Healer back in Okinawa, so she had to deal with the sound of hearing this injured patient in pain.

Soon enough, Lorenzo was on his side. He reached over to the railing of his bed and gripped onto it for leverage. Aurora dumped the materials from her pouch onto the space created beside him. She scurried through the medicinal pile and picked up a clean wrap of gauze.

"I'm going to clean your wound, alright?" she spoke softly. "Tell me if it hur-."

"I don't care if it hurts. Just get this bloody thing over with," he bellowed. Aurora was taken aback. _Rude,_ she thought to herself. "Even if it means killing me in the process."

Aurora disregarded his depressive comments and continued to work on his deep wound. She hovered her hand over his wound and muttered an incantation that highlighted all the parts that needed healing. In the process, it rushed all the blood to erect his wound, which he found _very_ painful.

"Fuck!" Lorenzo seethed through his teeth as he gripped onto the bed railing a bit harder. Sure, Lorenzo couldn't exactly feel things, but he felt _everything_ on his body.

"I'm sorry—it won't take that long-."

"I don't want to hear another apology come from your mouth," Lorenzo berated. "Just—stop talking. Clean my wound. Do whatever you have to do—."

Before he could finish his sentence, Aurora was already cleaning his wound. She poured a vial of alcohol onto a thick piece of gauze and allowed the gauze to absorb the liquid. Soon, she wiped around the wound before _actually_ applying the gauze to his incredibly large cuts. She wasn't sure if she should warn Lorenzo about the excruciating pain that will surface once the alcohol-ridden gauze touches his open wound.

But then again, she was told not to speak.

Aurora applied pressure onto his open wound with the alcohol-ridden gauze. His body jerked as he gripped onto the railing as his life depended on it. He knocked his head back and swore a few profane words. Lorenzo scrunched his eyes closed as Aurora continued to do this onto the 2 additional gashes caused by Greyback's thick claws.

She, too, winced at his reaction. Aurora was no stranger to that feeling of rubbing alcohol merging with an open wound. Aurora had a few wounds herself, but they weren't _this_ deep; this _large._

Aurora continued to work her way around the wounds. The gauze was no longer soaking in rubbing alcohol, but it was his blood instead. She tossed the bloody gauze to the side and took another clean piece of gauze. Aurora repeated this process and cleaned the last large wound. Lorenzo's body would jerk every time she applied pressure and cleaned the wound. The rubbing alcohol hurt like _hell_. It seeped into his flesh as his nerves enhanced the gory feeling.

She tossed the bloody gauze to the side and scurried for the vial that could temporarily stop blood flow. Aurora wanted to ask how long he's been here to predict how much blood he lost, but she was ordered not to talk. What if his life depended on it? What if she needed to know exactly how long he was here for? Then again, Lorenzo seemed like he didn't want to live. She dismissed the thought of how potentially fatal it is to have lost so much blood.

But with Aurora being herself, she couldn't.

"Do you know how long you have been here?" Aurora broke the silence. She popped the cork of the vial and spilled it onto her palms. Aurora rubbed her hands together and applied the oily serum onto his wounds, which emitted a low grumble from his throat.

"I—don't know," he stammered in pain, "Wouldn't—be surprised—if I was here for a—day or two."

Aurora examined the dampened part of the bed where he bled on. "You must've lost a lot of blood. Maybe not that much—."

"Maybe not enough," Lorenzo fumed, "I didn't lose _enough_ blood."

"I could do a blood transfusion after I close up the wound. I'm going to assume a pint or two. Do you feel dizzy?" The blood-clotting serum worked, and the bleeding finally stopped. She smeared the rest of the serum on the parts of his body where he had a few small abrasions.

"No," Lorenzo replied with a monotoned voice. Lorenzo lied. He feels lightheaded. Fatigued. Heavy. How could someone feel lightheaded and heavy at the same time? Whatever it was, he felt both.

Aurora hovered over Lorenzo's gashes with both of her small hands. "This may or may not hurt, so be prepared," she spoke softly. Aurora waited for him to respond. But not a peep came from his pursed lips. Aurora closed her eyes and started incanting a spell to close the large wounds. _"Vulnus Annecto,"_ she muttered under her breath. From the magic in her hands, to the dark aura in his flesh, the wounds slowly closed. Lorenzo arched his back in response to the agonizing pain.

"Fucking hell," Lorenzo groaned under his breath as he gripped onto the railing. He would let go, he would grab, let go, grab, and let go on repeat. It all depended on what Aurora Silvermist was doing to his wound.

Lorenzo's flesh bounded together. Beneath the surface, the fatty tissue of his skin merged together, which sealed the wound under his skin completely. But his skin was still split. The moving of his wounds was unbearable. Lorenzo wanted to scream. He wanted to choke Aurora. Smash her bloody face onto the floor until she died. All the pent-up frustration unwounded like a ball of yarn. He applied all the anger towards the people around him. Aurora. The man who intruded his thoughts. Oh, that _man_ who intruded his bloody thoughts. He wanted to murder everyone in this hospital. But all that he could do was hold onto the bloody railing of his bed. And cry.

Lorenzo cried. Inaudibly, but he did. Humanity somehow seeped through the cracks of his steel covering, but he would soon seal it once the healing process was over. Once Aurora dispersed from his area, he'd be cold again.

"I'm almost done," Aurora murmured, "I just need to fix this last one— _Vulnus Annecto—_ are you alright?" The final wound bound the flesh as Lorenzo sighed out of relief. He flexed his back to see if all the wounds were sealed. "Stop! Don't—don't flex your back. Avoid any extraneous movement for a couple of weeks. The wounds need to bind completely. You don't want to tear your skin."

Lorenzo freed his grasp from the railing and quickly wiped his tears that rolled down his cheek moments prior. "Got it," he mumbled flatly.

"Painkillers? Do you want some?" Aurora suggested. "I can fetch you a potion. Or I could just cast a charm. I don't think the charm will last long enough—."

"Just cast a charm. Don't leave and come back. Because once you leave, you're done with me. You've done your part."

Aurora swallowed the harshness of his sharp-knife words. _Wow,_ she thought to herself, _Here lies a bitter fuck._ Her hand hovered over the wound as she cast a pain-relieving charm. Lorenzo exhaled as the pain exhumed his body. He felt a bit lighter rather than heavy. So, now, he was lightheaded and, well, lighter.

To finish off, Aurora wrapped his wound with bandages. She placed two square sheets of thick gauze that had healing serums smeared onto it on top of his wounds. Pressing against the wounds gently, she took a stretch of elongated bandages and wrapped it around his shoulder. Aurora had to sling it over his neck and around his chest. Like an arm sling. Upon groping and touching on his tender skin while wrapping him up, she noticed that his body was wearily warm. It could be a fever. Or it could be that he's just a warm-blooded person. Aurora found that hard to believe—that he was a warm-blooded person. His attitude didn't accompany his temperature.

"All done," she conferred. Aurora took all the items from his bed and shoved them into her pouch of items. She took him by the sides and laid him flat onto the bed, "I can request you a new bed. Or new sheets? Whatever you want."

Lorenzo pursed his lips as he looked into her hospitable eyes. Aurora was being too nurturing. It annoyed him. Was his negative aura not enough? Maybe Lorenzo isn't fit to be bitter. Nonetheless, he'd still be. "Nothing. I want nothing."

Aurora nodded. "If you insist," she noted. "I'll come to check up on you tomorrow. Before I leave, do you need anything else?"

Did Lorenzo need anything else?

"Yes," he began. "I need you to find some people for me."

Aurora contemplated his request. Was that even possible? A majority of the people that came piling in were unidentified unless they were conscious. But half the people that came in were completely _out of it_. They were too occupied trying to endure the pain that the Death Eaters caused.

"I mean—I could try-."

"Do whatever you have to do. Jump through fucking hoops. Hell, kill Voldemort if it takes you to find a handful of fucking people-."

"Their names," she interrupted, "What are their names?"

Lorenzo was appalled at how easy that was. He scrunched his brow as he thought about the first few names he wanted her to find. "Find Lucille Granger. Onyx De Loughrey, too. If you can, find Blaise Zabini as well. As soon as you find out where they are or what happened to them, you come to me."

Aurora noted the names in her head. Lucille Granger. Onyx De Loughrey. Blaise Zabini. "Alright," she spoke as she slung her bag over her shoulders, "Anyone else?"

For a moment, Lorenzo thought. Is there anyone else in mind?

 _Ah, what the hell,_ he told himself. "Find out where Draco Malfoy is. Blonde hair. Grey eyes. Death Eater."

Aurora's heart fell to her stomach at the words 'Death Eater'. "You want me—to find a—Death... Eater?"

"He's probably the only family I have left," Lorenzo mumbled, "So, yes. Discover his whereabouts."

Aurora nodded. Before she could stray away from Lorenzo's presence, he grabbed ahold of her hand. Her head turned back to him as their eyes locked.

"And don't even _think_ about coming back until you get information," he snarled.

  
+


	3. Chapter 3

**LORENZO DID NOT** hear a word from Aurora for 7 days. He assumed she'd forgotten about his request. Given the state of affairs and all the chaos in the aftermath of the wizarding world, it wouldn't be a surprise if Aurora kept her distance to ignore such an inconsequential request.

But he was _dying_ to know their whereabouts. Within a matter of 7 days, he grew tired of the moping people in his ward. The Daily Prophet no longer broadcasted any news, so a majority of the patients, along with Lorenzo Berkshire, at St. Mungo's had no clue what was going on outside the walls of the hospital. But one thing is for certain: All hell? It has broken loose.

Lorenzo sat up from his bed as a Healer, late sixties with grey hair and drooping eyelids, approached him with jittery hands and a tray of bland food. Boy, he was _ecstatic_ to eat porridge. No sugar.

"Good morning, Mr. Berkshire," the Healer squealed through a wide smile, "It's a great day for us all!" She positioned the overbed table towards him with the movement of her foot and carefully set the tray of food in front of him. "Tell me what you think. I made today's breakfast with Mary from the 3rd level wards."

Sure, Lorenzo was wielding metal armor around his tenuous heart. But he could never stoop low enough to disrespect older women with good intentions. Lorenzo scrunched his eyes closed, took a whiff of the _very_ bland porridge, and smiled widely. "It smells fantastic, Mrs. Davies," he simpered. "Thank you."

Lorenzo picked up the spoon as Mrs. Davies watched his every move with curiosity—like a cat with a laser beam. He prodded the silver spoon into the porridge showcasing no hesitation. Lorenzo scooped a spoonful of the overly hydrated oats and stuffed the spoon into his mouth. In reality, he wanted to spit the porridge out. It was just this thick, sticky, grainy mass that Lorenzo had to swallow every day.

"So?" Mrs. Davies coaxed, "How's the porridge?"

Lorenzo kept chewing until he gulped it all. The thick mass traveled down his throat as he fought the urge to gag. _Not in front of this kind-hearted woman. Not in front of this kind-hearted woman_.

"Splendid as always, Mrs. Davies," he responded gleefully before scooping himself another revolting spoonful. Remarkably, there was no sarcasm in his tone despite how _bad_ he wanted to give her some.

Mrs. Davies gushed with pride as she found herself inching closer to Lorenzo. She took her jittery hands and pinched his cheeks. "You are so nice to me, Lorenzo! Always complimenting my cooking like no other."

As she let go of his doughy cheeks, he flashed her a smile even with the porridge in his mouth. It made Mrs. Davies giggle. Her eyes scrunched up as shades of crimson surfaced her complexion. She was blushing.

 _One less sad person in the world right in front of me,_ Lorenzo thought to himself, _All thanks to me. Again._

"Now," she spoke, "You go on ahead and finish the porridge. I'll be back to check up on your wounds, alright?"

Before the Healer parted ways with Lorenzo, he spoke up just in time for any other movement.

"Mrs. Davies!" he raised his voice. She turned her head back at Lorenzo as he swallowed the remaining porridge in his mouth. "I—. Do you know a healer named—. No, no that's not her name. Do you know a healer named Aura Silvermist?"

For a while, Mrs. Davies shot a glance of uncertainty before she added the pieces together. " _Aurora_ Silvermist? The Healer from Okinawa?"

"Well, I don't exactly know where she's from. All I know is her name, and even then I didn't know her first name correctly." Lorenzo gripped the spoon as his palms started sweating. He was anticipating the news. Something, at least.

Mrs. Davies pondered with her arms crossed. She looked up as if the answers were above. Then her eyes met with Lorenzo. "I haven't heard from her in a couple of days," Mrs. Davies responded, "But one thing's for certain. That young girl is quite a curious one."

Lorenzo took a short scoff as he rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"But if anything, I can inform you as soon as I hear something from her, or about her if you want—"

"Ah, there's no need Mrs. Davies," Lorenzo sighed, "I just wanted to say thanks to her for healing my wounds. If you do get a chance to talk to her though, could you tell her I said thanks?"

"Of course, Lorenzo," the Healer pipped, "I'll be on my way now."

Standing at the edge of his cot, she patted his blanketed foot before straying away from Lorenzo. Mrs. Davies had a unique limp that brought anxiety if one watched her stride.

And so Lorenzo watched. Not because he wanted to cause anxiety within, but because he wanted to make sure she wouldn't fall. He assumed that Mrs. Davies probably had a cane or something before the war, but as soon as the bodies started piling in at St. Mungo's, the cane would cause immobility and disruption for maneuvering around the hospital.

Once Mrs. Davies was out of his vision, he diverts his attention back onto the now-cold porridge. Despite knowing that he didn't like the taste of the bland concoction, it was his only way of surviving through these detrimental times.

Even if he didn't want to survive.

Lorenzo finished every last bit of the porridge that Mrs. Davies forged with her great intent regardless of the excruciating taste. He was eager for something new. Something other than the grey walls of the hospital.

What was waiting for him outside? Was there anything left? Soon, the Death Eaters would come to the hospital and _fuck everything up_. _Kill, kill, and kill with no mercy._

But until then, what now? Lorenzo felt like he had to do something. Like he had to keep living. Oh, _but I hate living,_ he thought to himself. He exhaustingly lifted his legs and placed his bare feet onto the cold ground. The people around him watched. It's been 2 days since he's walked around the hospital with such mopey energy.

Lorenzo poured all the weight onto his feet as he stood up. The blood rushed down his legs as he trembled for a scarce moment. His hand gripped onto the edge of his bed railing until he gained balance. As he realized it was safe to take steps, he strode.

No, it was more of a trudge. Right. He trudged around the hospital, cutting through crowds and hurrying Healers. Even after a week or two, chaos still occurred. Sure, it simmered down, but it was still chaotic.

Lorenzo found himself walking down corridors of the hospital; barefooted with cotton, grey-striped pajamas. A few more patients, who were also able to walk, glanced and whispered around him. He looked back at the nosy _shit-talkers_ with an uncouth expression. Lorenzo didn't want to talk back, but he surely was listening.

Until he had to talk back. He had to ask. Because word got around.

That was bad news.

"He's the one...." a girl whispered to another while eyeing Lorenzo down. His traipse slowed down, if not stopped completely as he listened. "...who _killed Bellatrix Lestrange..._ "

His action was automatic. Impulsive, to say the least. Lorenzo took a sharp turn to the wall that they were chattering on with mere aggression as they sucked in their breaths out of fear. "What did you say?" he hissed.

Lorenzo inched closer as their chests tightened. "Who exactly did I kill?" Lorenzo questioned. He was playing stupid. Or maybe he just wanted to hear the ginger say that he killed his mother for an ego-boost; he hasn't had one of those in _weeks_.

"It was—it was just the word around the hospital, I wasn't sure if it was true—" the ginger stammered.

"Who," he exhaled slowly, closed his eyes, then opened them right back, "did I kill?"

The ginger looked into his abysmal eyes as her heart sank with them. It was no secret that she was afraid of his presence; afraid of him being so _close._ Lorenzo wanted to back up. He wanted to apologize for interrupting their conversation so rudely.

But this _intrusive_ and _reckless_ Lorenzo was him now.

So he awaited her response with a clenched jaw.

"Bellatrix. You...killed Bellatrix Lestrange," the girl retorted through a strained maw.

Before-War-Lorenzo would've denied it. He would've denied such accusations. But this is Post-war-Lorenzo. This is reckless and intrusive Lorenzo.

So he smirked. Nodded subtly and walked away. Hands in the pockets of his pajamas. He didn't trudge this time. Lorenzo walked with pride. Left the girls with discomfiture to linger between them.

This cocky ego soon faded when he laid eyes on a familiar witch who just took a sharp turn from the crossing corridor. This witch also laid eyes on the familiar wizard. And her eyes lit up.

"Hey!" Aurora beamed as she trotted quickly towards Lorenzo. She pulled her cross-body bag up her shoulder as it slipped at each heavy-foot step she took. "I was just about to go to you. I'm back with some information—"

"What took so long?" Lorenzo inquired with a pinch of astringency. "Matter of fact, what took a week?"

Aurora rolled her eyes as she disregarded his attitude. "You don't want to be a bitch. This information is really good!" Aurora nodded as she spoke through her grin.

Lorenzo wanted to giggle. Because that's what he would've done if he ever got called a bitch. But he didn't giggle. Lorenzo crossed his arms and looked down at her with a weighted stance. "Go on."

She took a breather after nearly sprinting towards Lorenzo before gaping her mouth to speak. "So," she continued, "Lucy Granger—no, Lucille Granger, is alive and well. She's with her sister, but I don't exactly know _where_ she's located. Onyx De Loughrey— am I—am I saying her last name right? Ah, why bother. Onyx— she's safe, too. She's with Lucille. As for Blaise Zabini? I don't have a clue, I'm sorry."

Lorenzo bit the bottom of his lip as he reflected. "Draco Malfoy? What about him?"

Aurora seethed as she raised her eyebrows friskingly. "Yeah... About that... You see, the people I asked were pretty shaken up after I said his name. I didn't want to prod any further. I don't like making people feel weird."

"Alright, well here's another question," Lorenzo catechized, "Who were you asking? Who were you asking that took you a bloody week?"

"It's simple really," she expatiated as they started walking down the hallways, "I figured everyone on a specific floor— a specific ward knew each other. Or at least had common acquaintances. The 3rd floor was the most packed with former Hogwarts students..."

Lorenzo hasn't had a full conversation with anyone in a long time. He felt quite refreshed as he listened to his oddly energetic girl, whom he towered over, speak like there was no tomorrow.

"... so I knew that I had to befriend some of them. Most of them. Did you know there are four houses that students at Hogwarts get sorted into?" she snorted as she shook her head when the realization hit her, "Of course you knew that. You're a former student yourself! You know, one girl told me I'd be a Ravenclaw if I ever attended, then another told me that I'd be a Hufflepuff—. I— I'm blabbering, aren't I?"

Lorenzo didn't care. He wanted to hear everything she had to _fucking_ say. You can't trap a social butterfly in a jar and expect them _not_ to crave attention once in a while. "It's alright. Just be sure to get to the point," Lorenzo answered with ennui.

Aurora tittered nimbly. "Of course, of course. Now, where was I? Right! As I was saying, I befriended a handful of former students so that they'd gain my trust. Trust is tight around here, did you know that? It's expected because of all this war stuff and Voldemort taking over— You get it. I asked the former students about the people you wanted me to find out about, and that's all they told me. That Lucille was safe with her sister, and Onyx was with them. No clue where Blaise is, they said. And as for Draco Malfoy? For all they know, he's probably killing—"

"I don't—" Lorenzo interrupted sternly, "I don't want to hear that."

Silence lingered for a few moments until Aurora cleared her throat. "You asked," she pointed out with temper. "What's got you so interested in a Death Eater, anyway? Isn't he a common enemy for all of you in here? In this hospital?"

Lorenzo scoffed. "Yeah, well that common enemy is my cousin. I'm obviously going to have slight anxiety about his whereabouts—"

"I'm not invalidating your feelings, Lorenzo," Aurora said, "I mean, I'm obviously going to have slight curiosity as to why you're invested in a Death Eater—" Aurora copied his every tone like a mirror. She wanted him to realize that he was being highly defensive.

It worked.

But he was already aware.

Aurora decided it'd be best to change the subject. Lorenzo got what he wanted: Information. After the trouble she jumped through, the least Lorenzo could do was carry on a civil conversation without any hostility or bitterness.

"How are your wounds? Are they healing?" Aurora eased with comfort. She wasn't sure what kind of man Lorenzo was; the type to open up, the type to lie, the type to form a façade or the type to be the complete opposite.

Lorenzo glanced over at her as she was already looking right up at him. As much as he hated to do this, he couldn't resist. Lorenzo took in all her features. He analyzed this woman's face like a difficult chapter in a book, except he knew exactly what he was looking at. She's got straight, short black hair that sits above her shoulders, alabaster skin with crimson hues in her cheeks (by blood rush, of course), well-defined cupids blow with full pink lips, a subtle button nose, and her remarkable almond-shaped eyes.

Lorenzo thought she was beautiful.

"They're healing," Lorenzo responded flatly as he looked back down at the ground he walked on, "The large gash opened because I flexed my back—"

"God, I told you not to do that, Lorenzo—"

"—But Mrs. Davies healed it for me again," he nagged, "so, in retrospect, I'm fine."

Aurora sighed and shook her head slowly. "When a Healer orders you to do something, it's best that you obey with no doubt. We know what we're talking about. Geez, a lot of people doubt us—"

"I don't doubt you, _Aurora,_ " Lorenzo disrupted. The way her name slipped off his tongue sounded exactly how smooth aged-whiskey would glissade one's gorge. "I'm just a little hard-headed. That's all."

Aurora rolled her eyes. "I hope you learned your lesson—"

Their short and civil conversation soon came to a screeching halt when a woman stormed towards them with sharp features.

"Lorenzo!" the woman shouted from nearly afar. Aurora and Lorenzo stopped in their tracks as they awaited the woman to come closer. The woman wore a black cloak that she dragged down the corridor, along with her feet. The clacking of her wedges oscillated between the stone walls of the hallways. The louder it got, the heavier his chest became.

Soon, the woman stood in front of Lorenzo and Aurora with sweating bullets. She looked at Aurora, then back at Lorenzo, then back at Aurora again.

Then back at Lorenzo.

"You're Lorenzo Berkshire, correct?" the woman queried quietly. "The one who—" she leaned closer towards Lorenzo and whispered, "—killed _Bellatrix Lestrange? ˆ"_

As she pulled away, Lorenzo's face grew antsy. _How were people getting this information?_

"Who's asking?" Lorenzo's words turned harshly. He cast his shield; put up walls around him immediately.

"Look, there is no time to talk about this right now," she stammered, "Not around... _strangers._ " The woman eyed Aurora with uncertainty. Aurora was quite offended, but she bit the inside of her cheeks. She refused to let the woman know that she was uncomfortable. "Take my hand. We're going to the Netherlands."

Lorenzo's eyes widened. "Are you crazy? I have to find my fucking friends!"

"They're safe. Just take my hand, Lorenzo. I'll explain everything else later—"

"No way!" Lorenzo pestered as frustration grew in his voice. "I'm not touching some fucking stranger. You must be out of your goddamn mind, woman."

Aurora watched the dispute unravel right in front of her. She wasn't sure whether or not she should disperse from the commotion or stay. Nonetheless, Aurora decided to stay.

The black-cloaked woman grunted. "Your father said you'd be difficult," she mumbled.

Lorenzo's eyes widened. "My who?"

The woman immediately grabbed his hand as their worlds churned at an instant. Harsh winds blew forcefully as Lorenzo's stomach swirled and twisted. Their dimensions were distorted. It was all too much for him. It was all just too much.

It came to an end when Lorenzo and this mystery woman ended up in a forest— a forest that was _way_ too familiar. He looked around in disbelief when he realized that this woman apparated him without his _bloody_ consent.

Lorenzo gained his balance as he aggressively let go of her hand. He stepped back and examined his surroundings a bit more. He was engulfed in a forest of tall trees with large leaves. Most trunks leaked with sap. Given that Lorenzo was barefoot, twigs, pebbles, and hard dirt bit into his feet. It was hard for him to walk around.

His confusion regarding his surroundings stopped when he spotted a tire swing tied to a small tree; a small tree that had _'LCB'_ carved into it.

Lorenzo was home.

It wasn't the Malfoy Manor, no.

It was the _emptier_ and _colder_ manor. The _Berkshire_ Manor, where he spent his single-digit years dwelling around in hopes that his mother would come out of prison and come home with a warm hug.

Lorenzo clenched his fists as the anger from his childhood surfaced. He turned to the dashing woman who brought him here and gazed into her sharp-blue eyes. With the intent of harm.

"Why in the actual fuck," he seethed, "Did you bring me here for?" Lorenzo's blood curdled in his veins as he found himself inching forward the woman.

"We need to walk and talk," the woman responded blatantly, "Come on. Let's head towards the manor and I'll explain everything."

Before the woman took any steps further, Lorenzo grabbed ahold of her wrist as she whipped back. She hissed at the aggression as she fought for him to let go. But he just _wouldn't_ let go. He was _tired_ of letting things slip through his fingers.

"Why the fuck are we here? And what the hell is your name?" he asked. During the time he spoke, the woman broke free of his grasp as she gently wrapped her own hand around the wrist he grabbed harshly.

"Almeida," she responded weakly, still paying attention to her wrist, "As I said, I'll explain everything as we walk towards the manor. It's not that bloody hard to listen, Lorenzo."

Almeida trudged over the fallen leaves as Lorenzo followed. They were making their way towards the manor at a fast pace. His heart was beating contentiously in his chest as his palms clammed. It was weird; this whole thing was weird. He didn't know how to map out his feelings completely. All he knew was that he was angry. _As fuck._

Guilt seeped through his cracks when his eyes led him down the woman's wrist where she gripped onto it like she was in pain. The scene of him inflicting pain on her replayed in her mind, and he wanted to apologize _badly_.

Lorenzo shut off those thoughts immediately.

"Start talking," Lorenzo spat.

"I'm going to tell you everything flat out. No build-up. No warnings. Just straight out—"

"Well, get to the bloody point!" He grew ticked off by the second the closer they reached the damned manor.

She shook her head out of disappointment. Almeida was trying to ease him into it; into the information that she wasn't sure how he'd handle. "Voldemort is looking for you. I was shocked to even see you alive after a week. He sent Death Eaters to look for you. I took you here because it's not only your father's manor, but it's the new headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix—"

"Is Voldemort looking for me because I killed Bellatrix?"

"Yes," she responded swiftly, "Now, I don't exactly know _why_ he cares so much. All I know is that Bellatrix and Voldemort were tightly-knit. It must've been devastating for him when he found out that his partner-in-crime was brutally killed by her own flesh and blood."

"How did people know it was me?"

Almeida looked at him with a stupid glance. "You're really asking me that?" she asked. Lorenzo stayed quiet. Almeida scoffed in disbelief. "You left your fucking wand in her chest. How else? Aren't you a Slytherin? Suddenly you can't use your brain?"

"Excuse you? Stabbing someone in the heart is as Slytherin as it gets!" he retorted. "How did the manor become a new headquarters? What the hell does it all have to do with my father?"

"Did he not tell you stories as you grew up?" she attested, "He's a member. That's what initially split him and Bellatrix."

Lorenzo's sour childhood lingered in the back of his throat. No, Lorenzo's father did not tell him stories while he grew up. In fact, Charles Berkshire hardly ever raised his son. He hardly paid attention to him or looked him in the eyes because Lorenzo 'looked too much like Bellatrix. Eyes and all'. Lorenzo had a father, but he most certainly didn't have a dad.

Charles Berkshire isn't even a Slytherin. He's a Ravenclaw. With a lust for maniac-driven girls. The biggest mistake in his life if you ask him.

Lorenzo Charles Berkshire being sorted into Slytherin was the cherry on the top of Charles' vanilla-sundae despise for his son. _He really is Bellatrix's son_ , Charles thought to himself.

If only Charles knew that Lorenzo was nowhere near as cold-hearted as his mother. If only Charles knew he was the complete opposite. If only Charles knew.

Now, all Charles will know is the son who will soon fill the silicone mold of his mother— steel-hearted and broken.

All thanks to the world who showed him nothing but wrong.

Charles Berkshire, his father, included.


End file.
